Exploring the Tyrrhenian Sea and the hidden islands of Italy

The little-known Egadi and Pontine islands of the Tyrrhenian Sea offered stunning summer cruising for Phil and Roxy Johnson

A shirtless sailor in a roughed up inflatable dinghy approached as we sat in the cockpit at anchor. Along with two friends, my wife Roxy and I had just arrived in Marsala, a working fishing port known for its fortified wine, on the western point of Sicily. “I just came to warn you to be extra careful! Some people tried to steal my dinghy outboard twice today,” the man said as he held onto our teak toerail. “I was onshore for some groceries and fishermen told me they’d scared them off the first time, but when I returned they were in the dinghy again trying to cut the chain off my outboard!”

It was past 5pm and we were ready to spend the evening relaxing. But news of determined thieves in the anchorage had thrown a wrench in those plans. We’ve had our trusty RIB and its 15hp outboard since we first bought Sonder, our 1986 Cheoy Lee Pedrick 47, in 2018.

The thought of a sleepless night worrying about losing it was reason enough to hoist anchor and head west in the waning daylight for the nearest of the five Egadi islands, Favignana, some 10 miles away.

Roxy and I have spent the last four seasons cruising the Med. Ever since sailing across the North Atlantic we’ve been venturing east, as far as the Greek Islands in the Aegean Sea. Now, we’re retracing our wake and, having left the vast archipelagos of the eastern Med behind, returned to the western Med and its predominantly larger islands such as Sardinia and Corsica.

However, with the addition of the Mistral winds, finding shelter here during severe weather can be much more challenging because of the distance often required to get into the lee on a large island. As we were cruising during late summer, a period infamous for sudden weather changes, we decided to seek out some of the small, lesser-known archipelagos of the Tyrrhenian Sea, between Sardinia and mainland Italy.

Egadi Islands

The northerly wind, which had topped out at 18 knots in the middle of the afternoon, was weakening to a relaxed 10-12 knots. We hoisted Sonder’s fully-battened mainsail and unfurled our 130% genoa. With her full suit of sails in light airs Sonder can tack upwind at her best angles, gracefully gathering inertia with her 22-ton displacement.

Even so, the stars had long been visible by the time we threaded our way into the anchorage past two rocky shoals on the south side of Favignana. Our new surroundings were relatively secluded, a welcome relief after the warning we’d received in Marsala. The four of us regrouped in the cockpit to toast our first sail together – we’d made it to the Egadi islands, albeit a day sooner than planned.

Protruding off the western tip of Sicily, where the Mediterranean is squeezed through a narrow gap with Tunisia, the Egadi islands hold a strategic position –the famous naval battle between Rome and Carthage that ended the first Punic war happened here. There’s reliable thermal wind, blowing most afternoons from either the south or north. With a forecast shift to the south, we left Favignana sailing for Marettimo, the westernmost island.

Sonder’s gunwale kissed passing waves on a tight starboard tack, trying to reach Marettimo’s eastern headland. Roxy and I are so accustomed to double-handing Sonder it was a rare luxury to have our friends, both professional sailors, hoisting, trimming and helming without hesitation.

As we made the southern point of Marettimo the island’s mountainous spine broke the thermal wind with its wind shadow so we reluctantly motored the final stretch up to Cala Manione. This small, nubbin-like rocky peninsula juts out with a dozen or so moorings on a white, sandy bottom.

The moorings, taken on a first-come-first-served basis, are maintained by the island’s marine park for a nightly fee. Roxy stood on the bow directing me with hand signals as I slowly drove Sonder up to an open mooring. In over 50ft of depth Roxy could see clearly down through the cobalt water to the bottom.

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It had just ticked over to August, and we badly needed a swim after being on deck under the midday sun. We snorkelled a long circuitous route along the steep rocky walls of the shoreline. The sea temperature registered a sweltering 31°C, 5°C warmer than it had been in Marsala, where the much colder Ionian sea comes rushing around Sicily. Later we rode SUPs ashore to explore the ruins of a picturesque Ottoman-era watchtower perched above the anchorage. The route was steep and without shade, but worth the effort for the vantage to enjoy the last glimmer of sun to touch all of Sicily that day.

Marettimo is a collection of whitewashed houses clinging to the bottom of the island’s steep slope. With its small quay that barely protects the fishing village, or the rambling streets lit by a handful of canary-yellow lamps, you can’t escape the feeling that you’re out on the edge of something – in this case, the farthest tip of the boot of Italy.

The four us meandered around until the quiet was broken by the sound of live music. Following it we found a lively outdoor cafe on the harbour front. A guitarist and trumpet duo were playing jazz under a large olive tree, some of the audience already on their feet dancing. We leant on the stone wall lining the promenade and soon wine and some cichetti came out from the kitchen for us to sink into.

The next day we returned to Favignana, this time anchoring in its historic fishing port on the north coast. Built around a half-moon harbour, with crystal blue water, the limestone houses are an appendage to the huge tuna cannery, which has now become a stylish museum. For centuries, bluefin tuna seasonally migrated past the Egadi islands to spawn. The invention of industrial canned-tuna was started here in the 19th century, and up until the 1970s Favignana fishermen would row out in open boats to spear the giant tuna trapped in a labyrinth of hand-tied sunken nets.

After provisioning some Sicilian staples, we decided to take advantage of a weather window for a passage across the Tyrrhenian Sea to the Pontine archipelago west of Naples early the next morning.

The sun was still behind the mountains as we lifted anchor. All was still, except for the faint hum of a fishing boat picking up pots in the distance. Reluctantly I broke the peace by turning over Sonder’s Yanmar engine, and as we motored away a giant bluefin tuna leapt clear out of the water, before making a tremendous splash, a fitting send off from the Egadi islands.

Across the Tyrrhenian Sea 175 miles lay before us. The last time Roxy and I had sailed across it on our eastward journey it had been mid-October and we’d had swift broad reaching north-westerlies. This time around, in the height of summer, the wind was fickle. The thermal south-easterlies quickly dissipated, though had been forecast to blow all day.

We all had our guards up for a potential squall but, instead, for the next 12 hours found ourselves chasing puffs of wind – a cat and mouse game that repeated itself until we were counting sail changes in the double-digits. Using Starlink internet, we could view Italian weather radar for the whole Tyrrhenian.

It was clear that severe thunderstorms passing to the north of us kept pulling the energy out of the south-easterlies. By late afternoon we’d finally had enough and motor-sailed to Ponza, our first landfall in the Pontine Islands.

Pontine Islands

The island of Ponza appeared as a thin rectangular mirage 20 miles offshore, white and grey volcanic cliffs spanning its length. From the din of power boats alone we could tell we were closer to metropolitan Italy. We anchored in one of a series of partial bays that run the southern coastline of Ponza. There were hundreds of other yachts on this side of the island, but with several square miles of white sandy bottom with good holding at 20-50ft, there was plenty of room.

Nearby Ponza town was a hive of activity. Ferries from Naples were docking and undocking, while party boats jockeyed for space. The town centre was packed.

The following morning we said a heartfelt goodbye to our friends who boarded a fast ferry to Naples and a flight to return to their own boat. As we continued to explore Ponza town, we noticed we only heard Italian everywhere.

Ponza is a place Italians from Rome and Naples escape to as their own cities are flooded with international tourists each summer. Roxy and I were also ready to find a quieter place to catch up on work and boat jobs. To the north of Ponza is the small, uninhabited sister island of Palmarola, which looked like the perfect spot to escape the crowds so we set off on a lazy genoa-only sail around the northern tip.

The day was cloudless, around 35°C, even hotter than it had been in the Egadi islands, and humid on top. We couldn’t even make the short distance to Palmarola without stopping for a swim. The water felt like a warm bath, and did little to cool you. I tried to reply to emails, stringing up our hammock under our bimini to lie in the shade with my laptop. Just as the heat started to feel intolerable, we heard a whistle from a small boat motoring around the corner like a mirage. A sign on its hard top advertised a miracle: gelato!

Tuscan Archipelago

Later in the afternoon, we arrived in Palmarola. On its southern end a massive cliff of chalk creates a large, sandy-bottomed anchorage with little protection except from the north. With the forecast calm continuing, it was perfect for an overnight away from the crowds.

We spent the late afternoon paddle boarding on SUPs in and out of a maze of limestone cave formations on the west side. A thin pebble beach provided slight protection from the open sea and, with the sun setting, Roxy and I took wine and cheese to watch the sunset from the beach. Compared to the throbbing crowds of Ponza, it was heaven to have only a few other boats in the anchorage.

Ponza is only 60 miles from the mouth of the Tiber river and the port of Rome, a convenient place to berth your yacht if you need an international airport close by – as we did when we left Sonder while we flew to the US to visit family. The Marina Di Porto Di Roma is a 15-minute taxi ride to the airport and a 45-minute train into Rome’s centre.

The marina is also adjacent to the often overlooked archeological site of Ostia Antica, Rome’s historical port city. The site is massive, with ancient Roman baths, an amphitheatre, and many merchant storefronts with mosaic signs still intact advertising wares such as tuna, wine, and olive oil.

When we returned to Sonder to continue cruising north it was the start of September. We were relieved the summer heat and August crowds had mostly passed, but worried about unsettled weather in the forecast. It had only been a week since a violent squall sank the 184ft superyacht Bayesian off Sicily.

North of Rome is about 75 miles of straight, exposed coastline before you reach the impressive Monte Argentario, a former island now joined to the mainland by spits of sand that make up a lagoon. Here, there are several bays that offer protection from swell and potential weather.

Our first anchorage, Cala Grande, was a beautiful sandy bay with a mix of rock and sand dotting the uninhabited shore. The anchorage was completely empty except for an eerie 40ft yacht up on the rocks. It seemed to have been wrecked recently as the boat was still moving in small waves, the sails still carefully flaked and furled – a reminder of how quickly things can change.

Porto Stefano is a classic Italian fort town and offers the best protection from the south-westerly swell that frequently occurs during Mistral winds. The entire shoreline of the anchorage, however, is a rock jetty which caused us some trepidation in case wind direction changed rapidly overnight.

The Italian marine forecast issued a yellow warning for moderate thunderstorms for the coming evening, but a couple models on PredictWind showed south-westerly winds, building in the evening, followed by a strong cold front blowing through bringing a rapid wind shift to the north.

Porto Stefano would be a good anchorage to ride out the south-westerlies, but in northerlies we’d be trapped with the unforgiving rock jetty as a lee shore. After weighing the pros and cons, we decided to make our way to the Tuscan village of Talamone in the last light of the day. Only seven miles north, it’s quite exposed to the south, but we decided we’d rather tolerate uncomfortable swell conditions early in the evening in favour of being protected after a possible wind shift.

Talamone is an archetypal Tuscan walled village, built onto a rocky finger that juts out just enough to provide a little protection for a small, shallow harbour. More recently the village built a jetty further out to provide shelter to a larger part of the bay in south-westerly winds. Unfortunately for us, a mooring field for local boats prevented us from anchoring fully in the lee of the jetty, but after a few attempts we dropped anchor in a sandy patch in 15ft which provided some degree of protection.

As the clouds thickened, Sonder bucked up and down on her anchor bridle. There were flashes of lightning to the distant west.

Changing conditions

At around 2300 the wind, which had steadily risen to 18 knots, suddenly dropped to a whisper. A few minutes later a gust accompanied by a rumbling sound like a freight train hit the rigging. We leapt out into the cockpit, I went to the helm and started our engine. The instruments read 25 knots of wind, then 30.

I gave the throttle some forward thrust to counter the windage and relieve the pressure on our anchor. From 30, the wind rose to 40, still strengthening. Sonder groaned and heeled deeply to starboard. Sideways rain pelted our faces. Roxy crept her way up to the bow to watch for any boats that could have broken loose and come bearing down on us.

The roar of the wind was now deafening. We were still pinned over in the squall and I floored the throttle trying to push the bow back into the wind, hoping our oversized 45kg anchor would continue to hold. After what seemed like forever, the squall subsided, and Sonder righted herself.

Roxy and I, shaken by the sudden, extreme violence of the weather, caught our breaths. Several boats had had jibs ripped out or biminis torn that were now flogging uncontrollably. I later checked our navigation instruments in the cabin to see it had logged at least a 58-knot gust.

Cinque Terre

Sailing north again, and sitting at a cafe ashore at Portoferraio on the island of Elba, the bougainvillea flowers had faded to a pale pink and the September scene was serene. We knew there are many more places to explore like this in beautiful Elba, but were now on a tight timeline. We’d already committed to hauling Sonder out west of Marseille in France, so with over 300 miles of coastline still to cover, and challenging weather likely, it was time to move on.

Near the top of our Italian cruising bucket list was Cinque Terre, a string of five villages perched in small, steep indents on the coastal mountains on the eastern edge of the Italian Riviera. The villages are easy to access by yacht, each having a well-maintained set of official moorings but they’re completely exposed to the Tyrrhenian Sea, though there is good protection in nearby Porto Venere. We were lucky with three gloriously calm days that allowed us to moor off the villages – the only boat doing so this late in the season.

One night, we picked up a mooring off Vernazza, arguably the most popular with the Instagram influencer crowds that frequent Cinque Terre. In September, though, we hardly saw them, and around sunset we went ashore. Meandering up a terraced hillside path we found a popular fish restaurant with just a few balcony tables.

We dined overlooking Vernazza’s hidden harbour with the vast expanse of sea beyond and, right in the middle of the frame, was Sonder, bobbing all on her own just outside the breakwater. There’s nothing quite like seeing your floating home take centre stage at one of the most iconic sites in Italy.

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